Sunshine Rain
by frickangel
Summary: She watched silently as the boy slept on, oblivious to her presence. He watched silently as she busied herself in the kitchen, oblivious to his presence. MotherSon bond. Part one of the 'Angel in my Arms' series.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Sunshine Rain  
**Author**: frickangel  
**Summary**: She watched silently as the boy slept on, oblivious to her presence. He watched silently as she busied herself in the kitchen, oblivious to his presence. MotherSon ship. Part one of the '_Angel in my Arms_' series.  
**A/N**: After watching the finale I suddenly felt like re-watching all of Season6, naturally because of Chris. Still, went through all 20 over episodes and realised how little they did to build on the Piper-Chris mother/son relationship. They gave it a couple of episodes then went into season finale mode. So, thought of a story and then so many others popped up and now I have an '_Angel in my Arms_' series going on. This is the first of the many and I hope I don't get pelted with tomatoes for it.  
Somewhere around Season Six, '_Spin_ _City_' and '_Hyde_ _School Reunion_'.  
Totally Un-beta'd.  
**Disclaimer**: Don't know, don't own and don't I wish.  
**Chapter 1**

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_"'Because she doesn't exist in my future. Okay? She dies when I turn fourteen...  
The point is, after I save Wyatt, I have to go back to where she isn't. I can't get close to her because I don't want to lose her again.'  
'Maybe that's all the more reason to get close to her.'"__  
- **Hyde School Reunion **  
_

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It rains one minute and suddenly the sunrays break through the clouds the next. Not that it was ever surprising because after all, that's what San Francisco weather was like.

Untangling herself from the web of bed sheets, Piper Halliwell softly settled her swollen feet on the wooden floor and sighed. Thanks to the downpour that showered earlier on and the cool breeze had cast drowsiness on her, and in that moment of boredom, Piper had decided to take a nap. Unfortunately, the sun had other ideas as its rays streamed through the windows and interrupted her doze.

Sitting silently on the bed, she swore under her breath that the rain was still pouring down even though the sun was shinning brightly like an episode of Sesame Street. Snorting, Piper realised just how much she had turned into a mother when all the reference she could think of was a children's educational series. The memories of her past came revisiting as she remembered Grams used to call this 'Sunshine Rain' while they were younger. When it was a "sad" rain, as gramps used to say, then the skies were dark and cloudy, but the "happy" rain happened when the sun peeks from the clouds and pushes the greyness away.

The chuckles began to erupt from Piper's throat as she thought of how Gramps used to tell silly stories like those. Maybe one day—Piper thought—she could tell them to her own sons as well.

'_If my oldest doesn't turn into a power hungry monster that is.'_

She shook her head to dispel any negative thoughts lingering in her mind. It was bad enough that her youngest, in his 22-year old future self, was physically with them and telling how Wyatt will turn things for the worse.

Pulling her self up from the bed, Piper managed to waddle around the furniture in an attempt to reach her room's exit. Being six months pregnant with a future-neurotic baby doesn't make life any easier. Even the morning sickness with him was worse than it was with Wyatt. Taking a moment's pause at the door frame, Piper stood still and waited for the nausea to hit her and wreak havoc in the pit of her stomach.

When nothing seemed to feel like regurgitating, she took it as a sign that it was safe to resume her walk downstairs. Smiling at her good luck, Piper made quiet steps down the stairs and wondered about the unnerving calm in the house. There wasn't any sound of voices from the other rooms, no traces of Paige or Phoebe.

"Phoebe?" she called out and peeked into the living room noting the bareness of the place. Taking the last step down, she surveyed the main hall and listened for some sign of life. "Paige?" she tried another time but to no avail, receiving only static stillness in return. Treading slowly to the centre of the room to where a lone post-it note was stuck to a vase in all its bright pink glory.

Phoebe.

Only Phoebe owned pink post-its in this house and true enough, she found her sister's cursive scrawled across the note as she read it,

'_Gone to the office.  
Paige has Wyatt at P3.  
Neurotic nephew at home.  
Yell if anything._

_-Pheebs'_

A wide grin spread across her face as she noted the word 'neurotic' and instantly realised who it was. Piper was about to rip the message from its public showing when she mused on the thought of letting him read this. It would give her some entertainment of watching both aunt and nephew duke it out a bit. Letting in the guilty pleasure, the oldest of the Halliwell sisters left the note well alone and began her hunt for the neurotic.

Hands placed firmly to her back for support, Piper braved another ascend to the manor's attic. If there was one place to look for him, it would be there, huddled over the Book and giving little bothersome comments on how and what else should be added. Piper took a mental note to teach him diplomacy when he was old enough.

"Chris?" she called out and eyed the organised clutter the attic was in. Entering into the room, Piper picked up a few empty potion bottles by the cauldron and found the place to be empty. The candles were cold and the wax solid; no sign of it being recently lit. Sniffing the air, she wrinkled her nose at the musky odour of herbs and old brews but there was nothing new or fresh. Returning the bottles, she made her way to the Book's stand and patted the empty slot, realising it wasn't there.

If the Book wasn't there, it means _he_ wasn't there. Despite telling herself that, Piper found her alarm bells going off with scenarios that the Book had been kidnapped—if you can refer to an object being kidnapped—or worse, both the Book and Chris were taken. Eyebrows furrowing into a knot, Piper breathed in slowly, trying to rationalise that Chris was a full grown witch and half angel, knowing very well how to take care of himself.

'_But that didn't stop Bianca, did it?'_

Mentally kicking herself for even allowing the negativity in again, Piper marched out and did another round of descending to the hall. "Chris?" she tried once more, hoping for a sort of response or any kind. Even an explosion or cluttering noise would be a welcome. She stopped at the row of rooms and searched for sign of a six-footer emerging from the rooms. Getting none, Piper continued on the warpath to find her son.

Returning to the main hall, she glanced down the corridor and satisfied that no one could be hiding in such constrain space, Piper tracked off to the dining hall and again stumbled on nothing. Trying to calm herself with those damned breathing exercises, building up another louder summoning, "Chr–"

Her hands flew to her mouth to silence her call and allowed it to die midway from her throat. Taking in the slow relief, Piper gently padded across the hall and into the conservatory as she saw her youngest lying still in one of the wicker chairs. The two-seater was obviously a tight fit for the boy but he made do with what he had. After all when sleep beckoned, one would do what was needed to sleep comfortably.

As quietly as she could, Piper approached the slumbering son, trying hard not to wake him. She chuckled inwardly at the sight of Chris; his long legs hanging limply over one of the seat's armchairs, while his body curled up to fit into the small space and his head leaning against the edge of the opposite end. Her heart warmed to see him resting so peacefully and she wondered if she would one day in the future, walk down the stairs of the manor as she had, and find her baby boy sleeping like this. Would it be a day that he would have no worries of an evil brother, a dead family and bearing the weight of saving the future?

Piper sighed and chewed on her lower lip, and slid into the adjacent chair by him. The pangs of guilt assaulted her as she watched her youngest angel breathing slowly. If she had known from the moment she saw him, she would've treated him differently. If she had known where he had come from, what he had face; had endured and seen. If she had known who he was, why he had dropped out of the blue as he did, just maybe, she wouldn't told him to get out and stay out.

No, she hadn't told him to just stay out; she had told she never wanted to see him anymore. It hadn't sink in then, but now, if her mother had told her that exact same thing, she would've been crushed beyond repair. She recalled seeing those green eyes stare back at her with hurt so deep and it was evident now why it was so.

Sighing yet again, Piper raised her hand to gingerly push strays of brown hair from his face. He stirred slightly and she snatched her hand back as fast as she could, not wishing for him to wake. Letting out the breath she didn't know she had held, Piper relaxed as he fell right back to his dreams.

And then the questions hit her like a million bricks.

Did he have friends? Had she remembered to celebrate her sons' birthdays? Was he doing well in school? Heck, was he even in school? Was he happy? What were his hobbies, his dreams, his hopes, his ambitions? Had he wanted to become a doctor, a lawyer or a big shot star? Was he ever hurt or sad?

Was she there for him?

Tears became to form behind her eyes at the sudden overwhelming insecurities. How could she be so insensitive to him before? Here he was, only 22 and already trying to change the only future his ever known and travelling back in time. He should be home, in college and enjoying the freedom of life, even if it meant a demon or two from his witch's side. She should be with him, being a mother and baking, reprimanding him about a messy room or breaking curfews and not breaking the temporal laws.

Falling deeper into the chair, Piper could only think of all the possibilities of the future. Her eyes closed as she tried to calm herself, knowing that overreacting to thing was not an answer, she couldn't let him wake up and find her in such an emotional state. But then again she could blame all this on being hormonal and pregnant. Who was there to stop her from doing so?

Eyes opened again, she found herself taking in the sights that surrounded her son as he dozed. The Book of Shadows laid opened on the small coffee table, partly buried under parchments, aged scrolls with all sorts of symbols she couldn't even begin to recognise, then there were maps and charts, and other little bits of notes. More of those were lying under the table and some were even clutched in his hands. Reaching over, Piper brushed aside the clutter and found the Book opened to a page filled with information on a demon. Not like it was a surprise, but just on top of it was a tiny notebook, scrawled with Chris' handwriting; names of demons—some she knew but others were foreign to her—where half of these names had been cancelled out with neat lines slashed across. Daring to poke at her son's work, Piper flipped over to another page and found it riddled with the same strange symbols.

Replacing the pad, Piper wondered at the world he really was from. Just how did he know about all these when she, and her sisters, had barely known any of this existed before? He understands so much about soothsayers and magic, stars, astrology, fortune tellers.

The warmth that had filled her heart was now aching with the pain of a mother's failure.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, Piper made a promise to herself and to her sons that she will fight to the very end for a different kind of future. A better kind. Wiping the single tear that trickled down her face, Piper knew she couldn't fail this time or ever.

Looking out the window, she saw as the sunshine rain continued to beat down from the skies. She followed the sunrays that filtered through the stained glass and lit her son's angelic face, bringing back the warmth that had fled her before. If only she could preserve this moment forever.

But of course she could.

Slapping her thighs, Piper brought herself to stand and rushed over to the hall, ransacking through the drawers. She knew it was in there somewhere and it probably was drowning under a whole load of trash and unwanted mess. Her fingers combed into layers of papers, stationeries, envelopes, letters, and boxes.

And then she found it.

Smiling triumphantly, she brought up the camera and prayed for the batteries to work. When she discovered it did, she fingered the switch bringing the digital thingamajig to life and the screen lit up with an image of the hall. Not wanting to gamble on the batteries' life span, she grabbed the object and focused on her son sleeping. With a simple press of her finger, she had immortalised his presence forever. Feeling pleased with herself, Piper fell back into the chair and hugged the camera as if it held the most precious gemstone in the world.

To her it did.

A grin crept slowly across her face as she waddled back to a drawer, placing the valuable gadget into a drawer. All the while through the task, Piper had stared ceaselessly at the beloved image over and over again. Only when she had set to rest the camera did she part with the photo. Returning to her son, she stared at him for a while and said a small blessing for him. Risking his awakening, Piper bent down and caressed his cheek with light fingers before planting a small kiss to his forehead.

"I love you," She whispered into his ear, "And I'm sorry for everything, but I promise you this…" Piper licked her lips and watched as the rain trailed down the windows, casting different shades of colours like a rainbow, "I promise you this," she continued. "I will not let anything happen to you again. You're going to have a normal life as much as I can give it to you." Her voice strained under the wave of emotions that submerged her, another tear threatened to appear. "I love you," she repeated, hesitating before placing another gentle kiss on his head.

Straightening herself, Piper breathed in the wet afternoon and believed that even if Chris was brought up with darkness surrounding him, she could at least bring a little light while he's around. She chuckled as she realised it was a lot like the sunshine rain Grams said. Chris may have had rainy skies, but in this timeline, she was going to be the sunshine, no matter how small.

Piper lifted the light blanket that they had in the room and sheltered Chris from the slight chill that was forming. She brought it up to his chin and ruffled his hair a little, feeling the soft brown strands between her fingers.

Stretching her aching back, Piper realised what this house needed right then: the aroma of freshly baked cookies. Shuffling out of the conservatory and into the nearby kitchen, she wondered if she still had anymore raisins.

-----

**TBC…**

Thanks for reading.  
-Cheers  
Jo


	2. Chapter 2

**Title**: Sunshine Rain  
**Author**: frickangel  
**Summary**: She watched silently as the boy slept on, oblivious to her presence. He watched silently as she busied herself in the kitchen, oblivious to his presence. MotherSon bond. Part one of the '_Angel in my Arms_' series.  
**A/N**: Final piece of the first part and currently writing up the rest of the series—in no particular order though.  
I'm not fond of raisins either :)  
**Warning: **Totally Un-beta'd.  
**Disclaimer**: Don't know, don't own and don't I wish.  
**Chapter 2**

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He was trapped under the weight of the truth, the unknown and the fear.

He knew what the future was like; the truth of how he lived his life afraid of what the 'twice blessed' might do. He used to hide in his room, under the blankets and sometimes even in the closet. There'd be footsteps; heavy and dreaded, thudding up the old manor's staircase.

Then the unknown came. Waiting for what might be done to him, playing the guessing game of pain and agony.

When he was younger, he believed that if he hid under the covers and bed sheets, if he closed his eyes tighter and held his breath, then maybe—just maybe—he'd be able to see a day without pain. But it only got worse, and the fear of everyday grew stronger and stronger each time. Even the taunting was brutal; He would come and just sit there staring, as if contemplating on all the dark pleasures he could possibly inflict on the youngest Halliwell. Expecting anguish and physical hurt, instead his tormentor would scoff and sneer at how much a weakling he was, not as powerful as the blessed child—not even powerful enough to save his mother.

It pained even more to know that older one was right, that he couldn't save his mother—couldn't even save himself. It was a miracle that he found the courage to change the events of time and to find a love strong enough to help him.

Bianca.

But she wasn't there anymore, and it fuelled him more to save the future.

Sometimes, he wondered what it was it like if he hadn't met her, never had the support to make a life changing decision and never found his own strength. What if he was still hiding under those blankets and bed sheets, locked in and waiting for blessed one's playtime? He could only imagine how much he could take being thrown across the room or being his brother's punching bag or how far his screams of help could carry.

_Wyatt!_

His hand shot out to grab at some unseen power, but the only thing he saw were the small rays of sun shinning between the gaps of his fingers. There was no trace of his older brother or the dark musky aura of his home and he was certainly not in his room. Instead, as the foggy sleep began to lift from his mind, Chris realised he was in the conservatory and about two months away from his birth date. Slowly, the warmth of the afternoon crept into his chilled body and the nightmare ebbed away. Chris hadn't even been aware he was asleep or when he dozed off and definitely not remembering using a blanket.

Pushing himself up to a sitting position, he casually tossed the cloth aside and tried easing out the knots and cramps his muscles got from sleeping in tight places. A lesson learnt about cramming his body into a two-seater for a nap, but then again, it wasn't like he had planned to.

Time was not on his side much with his impending birth coming soon and things were getting complicated as it was. Almost a year ago he had arrived from the future, hoping to silently slip into the Halliwell household without having to reveal his ties with them. It was a simple plan really: go in, vanquish evil, save future and return to better future. It was stupid of him to think that _anything_ was simple with his family.

Now here he was, secret all uncovered, original plan screwed and having had to somewhat force his own conception. Paige was right; he was going to need a shrink when he got back.

_If _he gets back.

Chris barely restrained himself from continuously ramming his head against the wall in frustration; instead, he made do by digging the heels of his palm in his eyes and rubbing the daze away. Ruffling his hair a bit in attempt to wake up, Chris noticed the scrolls and parchments laid out on the matching wicker table. He ran his fingers through the material and flicked a few charts aside, suddenly noticing that things weren't as he had left them earlier. Call it a gift or a side effect of being paranoid most of his life, but Chris discovered he had the knack of remembering things as it were and when things were disturbed without his knowledge. This was one of those times.

Scanning the table, he noted how each of his study material were uniquely placed into piles and organised nicely—or at least more orderly than it was before. The Book was rested neatly right in the middle and facing him, like an invitation for another round of 'page shuffling'.

He made a small snort and grinned at his mother's obsessive cleanliness. Pushing the thought aside, he reached out to pick up his notebook, and flipping back to his previously written page where he read through the latest entry, trying to refresh his mind on what his past train of thought was. Nodding at the set of symbols he scribbled out, Chris retrieved the chart that he was seeking and traced the lines from one corner to the other. Smiling at himself now, he was pleased to find that his own interpretation of the signs were correct and made it a point to mark it down for future reference.

That is if he could find the pen.

Papers and piles were once again sent to their disorder as he searched through for the pen. Normally, he would've just walked over to the desk and picked out another piece of stationery but he liked the pen he was using and loved how the ink smoothly flowed when he wrote.

Digging into his pockets in vain effort to uncover the elusive piece, Chris then stood up and turned back at the chair only to be rewarded by the plastic ink instrument, wedged between two cushions. Picking up the pen in joy, he sat back down and sketched out the next line of symbols and possible star alignments of the demon's next calling. Like riding a bike, one can never forget the interrelated signs of natural occurrences, moon cycles, planet shifts and astrological dates. It was all connected, from an earthquake in the south of Japan and the sudden thunder storm down town to the climatic changes in South East Asia. Oh, and not forgetting that in two more days the full moon will appear and it was also the exact moment where Venus and Mars align in a parallel line.

Chris tapped his foot impatiently as he realised he was missing another event to the equation to be added up. _What was it?_ Once again, he was diving through the huge mountain of scrolls where he finally found the right one. More scribbling happened as he jotted down the details.

The beloved pen was tossed aside and it went tumbling in between the parchments, lost in the tiny jungle and buried in the deep. Puffing his cheeks out in frustration as he sat there and fanning through the pages of his notebook as if expecting some sort of animated stickman to run across it. Finally putting it down—though as not as violently as the pen had been—Chris began to understand that he really wasn't in the mood for more research into the world's ecological problems and planetary waltz dance.

There was something that he knew he was missing but couldn't place his finger on it.

Absentmindedly he reached out for the woollen blanket and sought comfort in its softness. It took him a while before he found the familiar relief in the simple fabric, stray fibres tickling his cool skin and the light fragrance of mothballs and sweet incense. Hints of nostalgia threatened to overwhelm Chris as he held close the blanket he'd known for so long. He and it go way back to his childhood as he recalled the stormy nights he hugged to it tightly, as his mother comforted him—protecting him—against the loud clashing of thunder and lightning. Ever since then, it's been his security blanket and as time passed by—his only connection to happier days.

A soft smile crept across his face and he allowed it to stay for a while. The memories flashed by and it evoked a warmth he had forgotten for a long time; it even brought the loving scent of cinnamon and sugar and it lingered longer than a memory should. Snapping open his eyes, it dawned on Chris that the smells weren't a memory but a reality. An unmistakeable mixture of sweet oats and nuts wafted by and it played like a temptation enticing Chris to follow.

Follow it he did.

Dragging his feet up, Chris silently tiptoed to the manor's classy kitchen, weaving through the furniture and other objects in his way. As he came upon the kitchen's door, his eye caught a small blur of pink somewhere near the hall but the need to investigate the sweet smell overpowered what other curiosity that peaked within him. Coming close to the wooden partition, his hand rested on the door and he pushed it only so slightly and stealthily, afraid that if he made his presence known the magic of his memories would stop. Instead, he held it apart from the frame by two inches, just enough for him to pry into the wonders of the room.

He should have known the source of it was her. No one else could fill the house with the aroma of freshly baked cookies; sure you could go to a bakery and get that but it wasn't the same. No, it was the love and attention she placed into every gram of ingredients and every touch of the mixing spoon, and measuring every teaspoon of cinnamon and sugar into the batter.

The ache stabbed into his heart so deeply that he nearly cried out. How he missed her warm voice, her quiet words of comfort and sometimes stern reprimanding. His heart pined for her comforting touch once again, to hear her tell him that everything was going to be all right and to have her make his favourite foods once more. To be perfectly honest, he missed much more than that—he just missed her.

"I miss you," he whispered to her, regardless that she couldn't hear a word. It just felt right to confess it, even if the only witness was the kitchen door.

Squeezing his eyes tight, he willed his mind to block out the dark images of her death and her screams; screams for it to stop and for Chris to run and hide.

No—no more.

Eyes opened again, he looked into the kitchen and watched wordlessly as she manoeuvred through the placed and like a well oiled machine, knows where and when things should be done. Without looking, she picked up a tray while reading something off a book that was upon the counter, smiled at herself and flipped the oven's door open. He shifted his position to get a better view as Piper waddled across to the refrigerator, pulling out a few eggs and precariously balancing them in her hands as she shut the door. He grinned and chuckled at her; it was like reliving a part of childhood for real and not missing a moment of it.

"Hey—you're awake," she grinned at him, stuck mid-way in cracking an egg apart.

His eyes widened in surprise, discovering that he had pushed the door all the way and revealing himself to his mother. Nodding, Chris' mind whirled to find the right excuse to spying on her but there was nothing, "Uh… yeah."

"Good," she simply said and continued with her mixing, unconscious to his discomfort, "Got a whole batch of cookies cooling over there. Why don't you pick one?"

He nodded again, as if the world of words had left him alone.

"Oh, and you might want put that blankie down first," she looked up again and motioned at the woollen piece wrapped around his hands.

"I didn't…" Chris hadn't a clue he was holding on to it for so long, not realising he had carried it all the way to the kitchen—his companion on a quest. "Err… sure," slowly, he stepped up to a stool, and neatly folded the blanket before placing it down. Giving it a pat, he made his way to the table where the cookies lay, all aligned on a stainless steel tray. "What kind?" he muttered, half wondering if Piper had heard him at all.

"Oatmeal and raisin."

"Oh…" he picked one up and studied the rough texture of the treat and spotted the dark pieces of dried fruit.

"You like raisins?" she asked, tucking her hair behind her ears and she gazed at him expectantly.

'_He hated raisins.' _

"Yeah, they're okay."

Smiling again, she went on stirring another batch and cookies. He watched her, not realising he was doing so until she stared back and questioned him, "Something wrong?"

"No," he replied instantly and looked away, "No… nothing's wrong." Bringing the biscuit to his lips, he took a small bite out of it and carefully avoiding the raisins. The first wave of flavour washed over him, bringing the smile to his face but yet, the sadness that this still wasn't _his _mother's cookies—no matter what timeline—hit him over and over again. As he swallowed it down, he felt the emotions he had been holding back for so long beginning to take control.

"Honey?" Piper's clear voice sliced through his thoughts.

He pressed his lips into a thin line, willing the feeling to pass and refusing to finally bow to it. Before he could say he was fine and that nothing was wrong, he found his mother already by his side and staring at him, eyes full of worry and tenderness. "You okay?" she asked him the third question since he first entered.

"I'm fine," he answered as he placed full effort into controlling his voice.

A mother will always be a mother as he saw her expression go from sceptical to overly concerned, "Are you sure? If you want we can talk about it and—"

"I'm fine…" Chris repeated the answer, this time putting a little more enthusiasm into it, "Really I am… Mum." He had hesitated on the last word, but in the end he was glad to have uttered it, "Just tired."

The torrent of emotions were still bubbling within him and the words were forming in his mind, trying hard to force it out of him.

'_I miss you, Mum. Life was never the same without you even with Grandpa doing his best.' _

Those words never made it out as Chris forced them to die in his mind. Reaching out, he clasped her hand into his and gave her a slight smile of assurance. In reply, her expression softened and she lifted her hand to touch his cheek gently. He forgot how smooth her skin was. "Okay, but you know I'm here if you have anything, you understand?"

'_I love you.'_

"Yeah… thanks, Mum."

"Right, now finish that up and I strongly recommend you eating more, because when your aunts get home it'll be gone faster than you can say 'demon'."

'_I loved you all along…'_

The last of his thoughts died off as he just sat that and watched her go back to what she loved best—cooking. Glancing out at the sky, he felt a small sense of hope as the rain stopped and left only the sun by its own glory. Maybe Grandpa was right, maybe this is his chance to get close her to again—even if it meant feeling the same aching pain of loss when he leaves. She's far more worth it.

Taking another bite of the cookie, he chewed slowly on everything. From the oatmeal and cinnamon to the love she had baked into it and even the raisins.

He could learn to like raisins after all.

-----

"_I love you,  
And I've loved you all along,  
And I miss you,  
Been far away for far too long,  
I keep dreaming you'll be with me  
And you'll never go._"

-Far Away, **Nickelback**.

-----

**END**

Love to **Spuffyshipper**, **Embry**, **MelissaJooty**, **Boo26**. **Teal-lover**, **-0-charmed-freak-0-**, and **raiderettedrum** for the wonderful reviews.  
Thanks to everyone else for reading.  
-Cheers  
Jo


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